CSi: Indigo
by A Rhea King
Summary: When Grissom is brutally attacked, Ecklie and Grissom’s team join forces to find who did it. As clues lead them to a teenage serial killer, they quickly realize Grissom may have sealed his fate trying to save one of the other victims.
1. Chapter 1

**Indigo**

**By**

**A. Rhea King**

Chapter 1

Grissom slowly became aware of something dripping on his face, running across his nose, and dripping off the side. Whatever it was, it had dried there. One of his arms was pinned under him, pressed into someone underneath him. He felt a hand lying limp on his side. It was hard to breath, the air around him was stuffy, and the salty-sweet smell of blood hung in the air. He felt pain through his entire body but couldn't tell which spot hurt worse.

Something lay on top of him, pinning him down. He turned his head and hair brushed across his face before his cheek came to rest against someone's body.

Grissom opened his eyes. For a few seconds he wasn't sure he had opened his eyes. All he could see was black nothing. Then a very thin line of light no bigger than a sewing needle flashed to his right. And was gone. Despite how small it was, the light made his headache flare. Grissom closed his eyes. He couldn't remember anything. The very last thing he could remember, and even then it was fuzzy, was taking his dog for a walk. It felt like that had happened years ago, even though his logic tried to convince him it was only hours or days at the most. But he didn't know how he got here, wherever here was.

"Hello?" Grissom quietly called out to the people under, near, and on him.

They didn't answer. They were dead. He knew that without being able to see them. His instincts told him he was supposed to be dead too. Whatever happened to make his head and body hurt so badly should have killed him.

Grissom tried to get to his feet. A wave of dizziness swept in from nowhere and settled behind his eyes. He closed them, waiting for it to pass. But it didn't, it got worse until he passed out from it.

#

Listening to the phone ring and ring did nothing for Catherine's frustration level. The voicemail came on, and cheerily Grissom's voice told her, 'You've reached Grissom's cell. Leave a message,' before it went to a beep and then nothing.

Catherine reached for her coffee sitting on the hood of her Tahoe. "Grissom, where are you? I've been calling you for two hours now. We need to know what to do about this crime scene. I'm telling you, this doesn't look all that suspicious. Call me back." Catherine hung up.

She glanced up as her hand brushed the cup a little too close and it flew off the hood. It hit edge of the hood, exploding the lid off and spilling hot coffee down her pant leg. In response to the spilling hot coffee she jumped back and grimaced. Her phone began ringing. She looked at the screen as Nick's picture appeared and then answered it.

"Hey, Nick."

"Have you heard from Grissom? I've been calling him for the last forty minutes. I need help on my scene."

"What's wrong?"

"I've got to take a door and it's just me and the officer here. He can't touch it and I can't get this down by myself."

"I haven't been able to reach him for two hours. He sent me out to I-15 to a crash scene, but there's nothing suspicious here. The woman admitted she fell asleep at the wheel. Where are you?"

"La Grange Drive."

"Okay. I'll come over and help. After I get another coffee. I dumped mine on the way here."

"Where's Greg? Maybe he can help."

"Body at the Flamingo found during a party. He's going to be a while."

"We really need another CSI."

"Tell me about it. I'll be there in twenty minutes or so."

"Okay. Once we get this off, we should check on Grissom. It's not like him to be out of contact this long."

"Sure. I'll see you in a few." Catherine hung up and headed back to her Tahoe. Her phone rang again and Ecklie's name appeared on the screen. She answered it.

"What's up, Conrad?"

"Where is Grissom?"

"I don't know. I haven't been able to reach him for two hours."

"I've been trying since the shift started. He said he'd call me back."

Catherine climbed into the driver's seat. "Well I'm sorry, Conrad, but since I just said I don't know where he's at, kinda stands to reason I don't know where he's at. Doesn't it?"

She could envision a look of disdain on Conrad's face when he said, "Yes it would, Catherine. Thanks for your help."

With a large smile she brightly replied, "Any time!" And then chuckled after Conrad hung up.

Catherine started the Tahoe and headed across Las Vegas. She dialed her phone, listening to it ring until "You've reached Doctor Grissom's phone. I'm busy. Leave me a message" came on again. With a heavy sigh, she hung up.

#

Grissom opened his eyes but his senses took longer to catch up. He smelled the blood again. This time it was dripping across his chest. He felt his hand in a pool of it, the sticky liquid clinging to his skin. His memory of what happened the first time he regained consciousness returned and this time he moved slower, feeling his way around the enclosure. He felt at least four bodies, coats hanging from a bar, an umbrella, and a mound of cloth he couldn't identify. He ran his fingers across the wall as he slowly stood. It hurt to put weigh on his legs and back, but desperation made him bear it with a grimace.

Overhead he felt a shelf and bar. He guessed he was in a closet or wardrobe. He found a gap and followed it with his fingers, realizing it was a door. He pushed on it but the door didn't budge.

"Hello?" Grissom called.

He waited, hoping for an answer.

"Hello?" he called louder.

He heard something. Footsteps? He held his breath and listened. He heard something click outside the door and in the seconds that followed, his mind screamed 'GUN!'

Grissom dropped back onto the bodies as bullets riddled the door. The pain from jarring his injuries made his head swim and momentarily paralyzed him, but he knew he had to protect himself from the flying bullets. He grabbed the nearest body and pulled it over him. Most of the bullets went into the back wall, but a few ricocheted. One whizzed past Grissom's cheek, searing the skin as it passed. He closed his eyes, waiting. The gunfire stopped.

Grissom held still, listening. The footsteps retreated. Grissom let out his breath. He tried to push the body off him but found he had no strength left to do it. Suddenly the shooting started again. Grissom gritted when he felt something burn into his side. The world started spiraling out of control, releasing him suddenly into unconsciousness.

#

Nick and Catherine pulled up outside the house. It sat in a valley at the edge of Las Vegas, the last house on the road. A police car and Grissom's Tahoe sat in front. There were no lights on inside, and no sign of Grissom or the officer.

"This is all wrong," Nick said. "Where the hell is he?"

Catherine grabbed her radio off the dash. "Willows to dispatch."

"Dispatch. Go ahead," a man answered.

"We're at 3123 Roper. The uni and CSI reporting to this scene can't be located. Did they report in?"

"Negative. Last report was CSI Grissom requesting second uni. Uni on site reported second uni wasn't needed and the second uni returned to patrol route."

"What time was that?"

"Oh one hundred and forty-six hours."

Catherine looked down at the dash clock. It was now twenty after four.

"Almost three hours ago," Nick said.

"And where's the coroner?" Catherine asked dispatch. "Wasn't one requested to this scene?"

"Uni on site called back in and said one wasn't needed."

Catherine sighed, shaking her head. To Nick she said, "I bet you anything that uni on site wasn't even an officer."

"Hands down bet," Nick replied

"Dispatch, send two more unis out here. Give me an ETA."

There were a few minutes of silence then the dispatcher came back. "Units en route. ETA five minutes."

"Maybe you should ask for a medic too." Nick asked.

"Dispatch."

"Go ahead."

"Send medic too."

"Dispatching medic to your location."

"Willows out."

Nick climbed out and headed for the open front door, unsnapping the strap on his holster. Catherine followed, drawing her gun. The two entered the house.

"Grissom?" Catherine called.

"Hey, Grissom. You he—"

Gunfire exploded from the dark and the two bolted into the nearest room, standing on either side of the door with guns drawn. The shooting stopped.

"Police are on their way!" Nick called out. "Put down your weapon and—"

The shooting started again and this time the bullets penetrated the wall. They dropped to the floor, pushing against the baseboards to avoid being shot. The shooting stopped. They waited until they heard the backdoor slam shut.

Both sprang to their feet and ran out of the room as four policemen and two policewomen burst through the front door. The CSI swung around to aim at the police, who aimed back at them, until both groups realized they were on the same side.

"We heard gunfire when we got here. Are you two okay?" an officer asked.

"Yeah. Someone went out the back," Catherine told them.

Two ran through the house hoping to catch up with whoever had escaped.

"So this was a crime scene?" one of the women asked.

"Still is," Catherine corrected her. "Doctor Grissom and an officer are supposed to be here. We have to find them. Search down here, but don't touch anything. Nick, take the basement. I'll head upstairs. And be careful of evidence, guys."

The officers and Nick left. Catherine started up the stairs.

#

With his flashlight held over his pistol, Nick crept down the steps into the basement. His flashlight kept finding 'Emily' written on the walls in giant letters and what appeared to be blood. His mind didn't care about that right now, it was focused on his missing supervisor. The focused beam swung where he aimed it, revealing little parts of the basement. He was expecting someone to jump out around every corner and it made his heart thump in his throat. His flashlight came across a cupboard with a broom stuck in the handles to hold the doors closed. Nick slowly made his way across the room to the cupboard and with the flashlight hand reached out to knock the broom away. He stepped back, waiting to see if anything or anyone jumped out. When nothing happened, he reached out for the door handle.

#

On the first floor an officer came into the kitchen. Blood was splattered across the wall and ceiling, and had pooled at the bottom of the bullet riddled pantry door. On all the walls and cupboards was the name 'Emily,' and across the refrigerator was a poem or phrase.

The officer reached out and tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. She pulled again, and then noticed a slide lock had been slid across to lock the door. She reached up to push the lock back…

#

Catherine cautiously cleared the rooms on the top floor. She paused at the first two writings of 'Emily,' and then ignored them. She had to find Grissom, evidence would come later.

She entered the first bedroom and was surrounded by the images of a girl caught between a child and teenager. Her trained eyes were drawn to a bloodstain on the floor and then the open closet door. A swatch of blonde hair lay between the door and bloodstain. She guessed someone had been pulled from the closet by the hair.

Slowly she left and moved to the next bedroom. A boy's room. There was blood spatter over everything and a large bloodstain near the door. Whoever had been killed here had been left for a while. There was no closet in this bedroom.

She moved on to the next bedroom: a teenager's room judging from the jewelry and makeup on the dresser. Catherine moved to the closet and pulled the door open. On the floor were a bloodstain and a pair of bloody handcuffs. She noticed two voids in the patch of blood. Had the killer sat on his teenage victim while he killed her? Judging from the castoff spatter, Catherine guessed the answer was yes.

She moved on to the last bedroom. There was a large bloodstain in the middle of the bed and one on the floor, also with voids. Dad had most likely been killed in bed but the killer took his time killing, and most likely raping, mom. Catherine moved to the door of the closet and pulled it open. The large walk in closet had been rifled through, but there was no blood. Had the killer been for something or was there a struggle there? She moved to the bathroom, using her flashlight to illuminate the dark room. There was no blood in here and nothing looked disturbed.

Catherine turned and went back into the hall. She walked into the last room in the hall, the family bathroom. There was a large pool of congealing blood in the center of the floor. Who had died here? She saw a smartphone against the wall and walked to it. It looked like Grissom's, but it wasn't powered on so she couldn't verify that.

She turned, paused when her flashlight a phrase written in blood across the wide mirror: '_when you first see Emily, you will fear her. When Emily comes once more, you will breath no more_.' Who was Emily? Was she one of the women that lived here?

In the mirror, Catherine noticed a blood smear across the floor leading into the hall. She followed the smear into the hall, her light shining on the double doors of the closet at the end. The doors had been showered with bullets and the carpet in front of the doors was soaked with blood. A cut electrical cord had been wrapped around the doors to securely lock them. Catherine slowly approached the closet, reaching for the cord. She suddenly pulled her hand back and fished a glove from her pocket. She reached out again…

**#**

Nick threw open the door of the cupboard and jumped back when the corpse of a dog fell out onto the floor at his feet. Inside the cupboard was a dead cat.

"Who the hell shoots a cat?" Nick asked the basement.

#

The officer slipped the latch and swung the door open. She stared at a man and LVPD officer lying in blood. Moving around the edge of the pantry, trying to stay out of the blood, and checked for a pulse on both. When she found none, she stood up, leaning back against the shelves to collect herself.

She lifted her radio off her shoulder to her lips. "Dispatch, we're going to need a coroner."

#

Catherine unwound the electrical cord and slowly pulled the doors open. She stared at the lifeless eyes staring back at her, and her heart nearly broke. A naked pre-teen lay on the top, her petite body ravaged by her attacker. The teenager and mother were in no better shape. Dumped in the opposite corner was the father with his seven-year-old son dumped on him. The smell of blood was pungent – in the back of her mind, Catherine knew the entire rug was going to have to pulled out of this house. There was no spot cleaning that could get rid of the smell in here.

Her eyes stopped on a wrist sandwiched between the two bottom bodies. The watch on the wrist was—

"Grissom!" Catherine dropped to her knees, pushing the bodies aside.

She didn't give a damn about evidence right now. She found Grissom on the floor in a pool of blood. His face was bruised, contorted, and swollen. Blood matted his hear to his head. She didn't need a medical degree to tell his arms were broken in many places and covered with dark purple bruises. She couldn't tell if he was breathing or not just by looking at him.

Catherine tore off her glove and reached down, taking his wrist.

"Please, please," Catherine whispered as she pressed her fingers into his skin. It was still warm, but that didn't mean anything. He could have died only minutes before she found him.

A wash of relief soothed her fear when she found a pulse.

She turned and screamed down the hall, "GET ME THOSE MEDICS _NOW_!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Grissom," a voice echoed and reverberated.

Consciousness began to fade when he heard Catherine's voice. "Gil? Can you hear me, Gil? Nick, where the _hell_ is the ambulance!?"

"Repeat medic location?" Nick asked.

"Catherine?" Grissom managed to get out.

He opened his eyes but he didn't see Catherine. Standing over him was a blond haired, pig-tailed girl wearing a pink dress and holding a terry cloth cat.

"Who are you?" Grissom whispered.

"Lay still, Grissom. You're badly hurt," Catherine told him.

The little girl walked away when Catherine leaned into Grissom's line of sight. He felt her take his hand.

"Hang in there, okay? Paramedics are coming. Hang on."

"Grissom," he heard Nick say. "Hey, hold onto my hand. Don't let go. No. Grissom, hold on. Don't let go."

Catherine's face swirled as dizziness swept Grissom away from her.

#

Catherine followed the paramedics down the stairs, watching Grissom. She stopped at the back of the ambulance, waiting for them to load the gurney. Catherine jerked when someone laid their hand on her arm, looking right into Nick's worried eyes.

"You have to stay here, Nick. Process the scene. Call Ecklie, tell him what's happened, then call Greg, and pull him from his case. This takes priority."

Nick nodded. Catherine looked away when a tear slid down her face. Nick stepped close, putting his arm around her.

"Call me as soon as you know anything." Nick quietly added, "And call Sara. She'll want to be here."

She nodded.

One paramedic climbed in with the gurney, the second glanced at her.

"We have to go now, ma'am."

Catherine hurried forward, sitting down with the paramedic. Nick watched her lean forward, taking Grissom's hand. He saw evidence as her hand closed around his – there was a powder on Grissom's fingers – but he didn't tell her to stop. All the trace on Grissom didn't matter right now.

The back doors were closed and then the ambulance was pulling away, leaving Nick standing by himself on the front lawn of the crime scene.

#

Consciousness was much harder to regain this time, and not wholly. Grissom felt off. He felt like he was floating along, chasing after his body. He heard the muffled sound of sirens and felt himself moving. His lower body was numb and his headache had grown worse.

"Can you hear me, Gil?" someone he didn't recognize asked.

He didn't answer. He was instinctually afraid of this unknown speaker. Was this the person that hurt him? Was he hurt? Had it been a person? He couldn't remember anything beyond walking Hank. Grissom opened his eyes.

He remembered the little girl leaning over him from before. She watched him without speaking.

"Who are you?" Grissom asked her.

"Gil," Catherine said.

Pigtails bouncing, the girl moved back as Catherine came into view until she was out of sight.

"Who is she?" Grissom whispered.

Two warm hands took his. "Grissom, look at me. I need you to look at me," Catherine told him.

Grissom's vision slowly focused on Catherine.

"Where am I?" Grissom asked.

"In an ambulance. We're headed to the hospital. Do you remember what happened?"

"No."

"You were attacked. You're injured. Stay awake. Stay with us, okay?"

"Sir, can you feel your left leg?" the stranger he'd heard before asked.

"What?"

"Do either of your legs feel strange?"

"Numb."

The world began spinning.

"One leg? Both?"

"All of it."

"Which one, sir? Can you tell me which leg?"

"Sir, look up here. Look at me. Follow the light, okay?"

A light appeared and Grissom tried to follow it, but the dizziness swept it away into darkness again.

#

Nick was trying to focus on his job, on collecting evidence. He was trying to forget reviving Grissom twice before the ambulance arrived and helping the paramedics in the foyer try to bring Grissom back a third time. He came back easily every time, a sign in Nick's mind he was fighting to stay alive. But it didn't wipe out the image of how Grissom looked when he came up behind Catherine.

Nick pulled a fingerprint card from his kit and looked up. Slowly he looked at every 'Emily' that was painted in blood on the walls. What did Emily have to do with any of this? Realizing he had let his mind be sidetracked – something it was easily doing tonight – he looked down at the fingerprint card in his hand. Nick pulled the tape back from the fingerprint card before he lowered it over the fingerprint on the bedpost. His hands were shaking and he hesitated. He drew a breath but it didn't steady his hands. He decided he had to get the print anyway and moved in for it. At the last second his hands jerked, pulling the tape across the print and smearing it. Immediately he knew he'd lost the print.

"SON OF A BITCH!" Nick bellowed, kicking his kit across the bedroom.

The anger left as fast as it came, leaving him feeling exhausted. He dropped the card as he scrubbed his forehead with his fingers.

Behind him he heard Ecklie say, "Nick, I've brought three swing and two day, and Greg."

Nick put his hands on his hips, but didn't turn. So Ecklie had come to take over? He didn't know if he could handle much more stress tonight and remain civil.

"And?" Nick asked.

"Where do you want us?"

Nick slowly turned, finding them standing in the doorway. Ecklie wasn't taking over the crime scene? He was going to let Nick keep it? And was that… Nick stared at the field kit Ecklie was holding. He looked from it to Ecklie's face.

"Where, Nick?"

"Sorry we're late," Wendy said as she and Hodges appeared at the back. "The media's a circus at the end of the court. Hey Nick. We'll courier evidence so we can get it through faster. Do you have anything for us?"

"No. I haven't even…" Nick turned, staring into the bedroom. He couldn't focus on this. Suddenly he wished Ecklie would take control.

And his wish was granted.

"Alison and Jose, head to the basement. Richard and Kipp, take the first floor. Darla and I will cover the perimeter. Is that okay, Nick? That will leave you and Greg up here."

"That's fine."

"Okay, lets get started. We'll have stuff for you two soon."

"We'll wait outside," Wendy told them.

Nick listened to them leave. All except Greg. He walked forward and picked up the card, handing it back to Nick.

"Emily is all over this house. Any ideas what it means or who it is?"

"No."

Greg nodded. "Me neither. If you want, I can lift if you want to dust."

"Okay."

Silently the two worked together to process the scene.

#

Catherine didn't see the bright flowers outside the window. Against the darkness behind them, they almost glowed in the light coming through the window. She noticed a reflection in the window and turned. Doctor Ian Cooper stood behind her, staring at the surgical cap in his hand. He looked up at her, and then motioned to the two rows of seats nearby. Catherine moved to them and sat down with him.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Catherine asked.

Solemnly he nodded as he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his legs. She sat back, bracing herself.

"Tell me."

"I was able to stop the internal bleeding, but he lost a lot of blood. That's the least of my worries, Catherine. The head trauma has caused an epidural hematoma and is causing swelling. I'm doing what I can to relieve the pressure, but Gil has slipped into a coma and to be frank… Mortality is highly probable."

"What about the rest of his injuries?"

"All of his ribs are either broken or fractured. His right jawbone has been fractured in two places and there are multiple fractures across the femur and foot bones. Several fractured discs. There are several fractures across his clavicle, hips, and right pelvis. Judging from the amount of fractures on his forearms, I'd say he tried to defend himself."

Ian's pager went off and he glanced at it. He looked back at Catherine.

"We'll move him to ICU 4 in a half hour. You can wait for him there. Two nurses up there know him, he'll be in good care, and I will check up on him as soon as I'm out of my next surgery."

"Thank you Ian."

He reached out, taking her hand. "I owe you two this much. You found out who murdered Sophia."

She watched him walk away before looking at the floor. She looked at her phone when it started ringing then answered.

"Sara, something has happened to Grissom. You need to come now. He may not have much time."

There was silence for several minutes. "I'm on the next plane there. Bye."

The phone went dead then disconnected. Catherine let her hand fall to her lap. It would be a while before Grissom was in his room, and she in such shock she didn't really want to move.

#

In the distance, the sun was rising, lighting the sky with beautiful pastels, but the sight was lost to Ecklie. He wanted to curse at the ground he was searching, the bushes that kept snagging his pants, the stones that had scuffed his good shoes, and mostly the asshole that had put Grissom in the hospital. But he held his tongue because any of that would be weakness, and he'd suffered enough at his father's hands for showing weakness to let anyone see it.

"I found a crowbar," the CSI called.

Ecklie turned. CSI Darla held it up for him to see. He hated working with first years.

"And what do we do with evidence when we find it? Do we hold it up in the air and let the world know we found it?"

Darla lowered her hand. "No, sir. We bag and tag it."

Ecklie turned around and kept searching. The light of his flashlight sparkled across something in a spiny bush. He crouched down and reached under the brush, grimacing as the thorns snagged his bare skin and tore it. He felt a gun. No. He felt two. He grabbed them and pulled them out.

"Bring me bags," Ecklie called to Darla.

"Coming."

Ecklie didn't turn. He looked up at the rising sun.

"Where are you, you son of a bitch?" Ecklie asked the dawn. He was actually glad he wasn't lead on this case. He might be tempted to provide the attacker with a convenient 'accident' when he or she was caught.

#

Nick walked into the main layout room, watching Wendy laying out computer diagrams of the house.

"Archie sure worked fast on these," Nick commented.

"You're not the only one that wants Grissom's attacker found now." Wendy glanced at him. "We all do."

Nick nodded.

"Okay…" She spread the papers out, and then looked at the diagrams. She used sticky flags marked: mom, dad, teen daughter, preteen daughter, son, police, unknown1, unknown 2, dog, cat, and Grissom. She tagged the spots on the map.

"Okay…" Wendy said again.

"You said that already, Wendy. Get to it."

She glanced back at him. He was staring at the maps and either didn't know he snapped or wasn't sorry he had.

She looked at the maps. "We have blood from the officer in the front hall and drops to the kitchen. The smear across the floor into the pantry was his, so he must have been killed there. In the hall there are drops from the dog to the basement. From the living room, the cat to the basement. On the steps we have two donors. We have the unknown and Grissom. Upstairs—"

"Wait a second. There's drops from Grissom on the stairs?"

"Yes."

"Anywhere else downstairs?"

"In the basement and halfway up the steps."

"Go on."

"Upstairs, the daughter's blood in their respective bedrooms and then drops to the hall closet. Likely they were carried. The same for the son. Dad's blood is in the bed and was smeared across the carpet to the hall closet. Mom's blood next to the bed and then was smeared to the hall closet. In the bathroom, the largest donor was Grissom. That's probably where he… Uhm…"

"Move on. You have unknown 1 and 2 here and in the kitchen."

"Unknown 1 is the John Doe found in the pantry with the officer. There was a lot of his blood in the bathroom, down the hall, stairs, and right at the back door. The drag mark from the back door to the pantry was his."

Nick picked up a stack of photographs, separated by room, and looked at them. He began laying them out on the table, watching the directionality of the drops and smears. When he was done, he stared. Realizing what the blood spatter and photographs were telling him was a hard reality to swallow.

"There was no blood of the second unknown in any of the bedrooms or basement or kitchen. Only the bathroom, upstairs hall, stairs and out the back door. That means… Grissom was the last person killed and he tried to stop the killer. What the hell was he thinking?"

Wendy looked at the table. "That he didn't want the killer to escape and was doing his job."

#

Archie and Greg scanned fingerprints into the computer and ran them. The two hadn't spoken since Greg came in and asked Archie to help. Archie dropped what he was doing and began scanning fingerprints. The computer beeped once, followed by a second one.

"Two hits," Archie told Greg.

He moved over to the computer next to Archie. Two photographs appeared: the dead John Doe and a teenager.

"John Doe is only seventeen," Archie said. "The guy looks twenty-five. And this other donor is fifteen. You think the John Doe talked this kid into helping him kill the family?"

"To soon to tell.

"It says they escaped from Clark County Juvenile Detention Center the day before yesterday." Archie brought up the teenager's record and began scrolling through the list of charges. "Look at this kid's record, Greg." Archie scrolled through the years and years of charges against the teenager. "Donald Fritz, fifteen, and his rap sheet looks like some hardcore on death row! The last charge is aggravated assault. He put a kid in the hospital for putting down his favorite music artists."

"Let me guess. Marilyn Manson."

"No. Danzig."

"This kid had some serious issues if he was into Danzig. It says he beat the kid up with a board. I wonder if he's moved up on the weapons scale." Greg picked up a phone receiver nearby and dialed an extension.

"Robbins," Doc Robbins said after the second ring.

"Do you have the X-Rays from the hospital yet?"

"On which vic?"

"Grissom."

"No. Catherine hasn't returned my calls either."

"Okay. I'll go see what's going on."

"Is there something up?"

Greg looked up at Ecklie. He was reading the file on the screen.

"I'll call you when I find Catherine, Doc." Greg hung up. "Our only suspect is fifteen."

"Do we need a warrant for him?"

"We have to find him first. He escaped juvvy and that would have been removed if they'd gotten him back."

"His last name is Fritz. Isn't that the last name of the family that lived at the house?"

Greg turned and pulled up a file on the family. Ecklie was right. He turned back to Ecklie.

"You think he was related?"

"It's worth checking into. Archie, that's your job now. Greg, Catherine needs you to pick up the X-Rays and Doctor Ian said he has a copy of the medical file waiting at the front desk for you."

Greg hurried out. Archie turned, watching Ecklie read the screen.

"Are you…"

Ecklie looked down at him. "Am I what?"

"Are you working the case?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Is that a problem?"

"No. I think it's cool."

Without comment, Ecklie went back to reading the screen.

**#**

Catherine sat on the edge of the windowsill, staring out at Las Vegas. Dawn had risen like it always did, uncaring that Grissom hung on a thin thread between life and death. The sound of the respirator mechanically breathing for him was hypnotic and had lulled her into sleep for an hour. The soft steps of a nurse coming in to check on him woke her. She couldn't bring herself to leave even to eat.

"Mom?"

Catherine turned, surprised to find Lindsay standing by her, and Sara behind her.

"I hope it's okay," Sara said. "I stopped at your place to find you and she asked to come."

Catherine smiled, hugging Lindsay. The teenager pulled away though, walking up to Grissom. She laid her hand on his, and then looked back at Catherine.

"Did you catch the guy that did this?"

"Not yet."

Lindsay looked down at Grissom. "Is he going to be okay?"

Catherine didn't answer until Lindsay looked back at her.

"It's too soon to tell, Linds. Have you had lunch?"

"No. Have you slept?"

"Why don't we get something in the cafeteria?"

"I want to stay here with Grissom."

Catherine wanted to argue, but she didn't know how. Sara stepped in for her.

"You know…" Sara walked up to Lindsay. "I could call you if he wakes up or anything changes. You'll be downstairs so you can hurry back. I think your mom is hungry. She's been here all night."

Lindsay looked at her mom. She let go of Grissom's hand and took Catherine's. Catherine smiled, leading the teenager out of the room.

Sara waited until she was sure they were gone before she carefully slid onto the bed to lie next to Grissom. She leaned close, kissing the only place on his face without a bruise or bandage – his eyelid.

"Don't give up, Gil. Please…" Sara whispered. "Don't leave me. I need you."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Robbins snapped X-Rays up on the light board. He picked up the medical file from a nearby table before turning to Nick, Greg, David, and Ecklie.

"Doctor Ian's report is just preliminary. Until the autopsy, I—"

"Doctor Robbins, let's focus on what's here, not what you're hoping you'll get," Ecklie snapped.

"I'm not hoping I'll get anything."

"Then stop killing Gil before he's dead!"

Greg, Nick, and David stared at the two, stunned to see either man fighting.

"I didn't mean it like that. I simply meant—"

"Until autopsy? That doesn't mean anything?"

"It just meant—"

"STOP IT!" David snapped, surprising everyone. He took the file from Robbins, opening. "Ian's report says that during post surgery, he found more coagulation around the wounds on the lower extremities."

Robbins and Ecklie put their fight aside while David continued.

"That means it is likely Grissom was unconscious for a short time before he moved."

Nick referred to the case file he held. "Based on the directionality of the blood drops he was in the basement first."

David flipped the page. "After that, he can't tell what order the injuries occurred. He found trace in the head wounds that he sent to us."

"I got that back," Greg said. "It was ceramic tile that matched the tile in the bathroom. I found chips in the floor tiles where the weapon hit the floor. Most likely transfer happened during the attack."

"That's all his preliminary says. The list of injuries is two pages long." David flipped past them to the last page. "Swelling of the brain continues. Hematoma presumed cause for patient becoming comatose at fourteen hundred and twelve hours."

David walked up to the light board and referenced the notes as he continued. "He says there were cleaved indentations on the skull at least seven millimeters deep. Judging from the description he gives here, it sounds like the crowbar Ecklie and his partner found." David looked back at Nick and Greg. "Has it been confirmed it was used?"

Both nodded.

"Donald's prints were on it. Hodges also matched the blood and hair on it to Grissom," Greg answered.

David turned back to the report. "He found one gunshot wound, lower abdomen and was able to recover the bullet for us. Catherine's signature here, so she must have taken it to Bobby. He lists the meds he has him on and the last entry…" David flips the pages back and shuts the file. "Okay. So that's it."

"What's on the last page?" Robbins asked.

"Nothing. We—"

"David, what is on the last page?" Ecklie demanded.

David looked at him, then the CSI in turn. "Mortality is highly probable."

"He thinks… He thinks he's going to die?" Greg asked.

David nodded.

"No. No!"

"Greg, it doesn't—" Ecklie started.

"No! He isn't going to die!"

"Greg."

"I don't care what you're going to say, Conrad. He's not going to die."

Ecklie grabbed the medical file and started for the door. He stopped suddenly and turned back to them.

"I was going to say that it doesn't matter what some doctor says." Ecklie shook the file at Greg, an extension of an accusing finger. "As long as Grissom's breathing, this doctor doesn't know shit. For all we know, he'll wake up tonight and want lemonade with strawberries." Ecklie walked out.

"Lemonade with strawberries?" Greg asked.

"It's Grissom's favorite drink," Nick said. "Didn't you notice it when we had breakfast?"

"No…" Greg's eyes started to water. He looked at Nick. "I never noticed."

Nick patted his shoulder, and then pushed him into a walk. "Let's go back to the scene and see if we missed anything."

"Yeah. Okay."

The two left. David started talking down the X-Rays. Robbins joined him. He handed his stack to David, who slid them into an envelope.

"David."

He turned.

"Thank you for stopping that. I don't know what got into me."

"I do. And you're welcome. I have to run the bullets up to Bobby." David sat the envelope and file on the desk, picked up a box of envelopes, and headed upstairs.

Robbins sat down, staring across the empty morgue.

#

Bobby pulled the pistol from the bag, examining it. Fingerprint dust drifted from it – the one thing he hated about Ecklie is he always got fingerprint happy. Bobby gently tapped the gun and when he was satisfied he'd gotten most off the gun, he ejected the clip and loaded it with three bullets. Bobby moved to the bullet tank and put his hand in. He fired the bullets, and then put the gun back in the evidence bag. Bobby fished out the bullets and moved over to a microscope. He'd just sat down when the door opened. Catherine walked in, stopping to put on gloves and look at the gun.

"Is this was Officer Carson's sidearm."

"Yeah." Bobby turned back to work.

"I brought this from the hospital."

Bobby turned, looking at the clear bag she held up. He got up and took it, looking it over. He looked up at her.

"Grissom?"

She nodded.

"How is he? I haven't heard much."

Catherine smiled trying to force back the tears. They came anyway. Bobby stepped close, holding her.

"He's not going to make it," Catherine whimpered.

"You don't know that."

"Bobby…" She stepped back, looking him in the eyes. "He won't survive this, Bobby. He wants to live, I know he does, but… Whoever did this was trying to kill him. He—"

"Hey. Hey, now." Bobby held her again, stroking her hair. "Let's not give up on him until we have to, okay? Give him a chance, give him hope."

"He's in a coma. He doesn't know—"

"Have faith, Catherine. You gotta have faith in our friend. He is our friend, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Then don't give up on him until the time comes you haven't gotta choice." Bobby grabbed her arms, looking in her eyes. "Promise me."

She smiled. "I promise."

"Good. Now let's talk bullets, okay?"

She nodded, smiling a little more. Bobby picked up the bag and walked over to the comparison microscope.

"You know this is going to take a while, Catherine."

"I'll wait. I can't go back and I don't want to go home."

"What about Lindsay?"

"She's at the hospital with Sara. She didn't want to leave Sara alone."

"How is she doing?"

Catherine looked out of the lab, watching people walk past. "I can't tell. She never was good about telling anyone how she felt. Except Gil."

Bobby nodded. "If you want to, there's a revolver over there I need samples from. You want to do that?"

"Sure." She got up and walked over to the second evidence bag.

#

Greg stood in the doorway of the bathroom, staring at the floor. He didn't even try to hide his tears when Nick came up behind him. Nick leaned against the doorframe, looking at the ceiling. Suddenly he stood.

"Did you notice the door to the attic?"

Greg wiped his tears and turned, looking up. "No."

Nick walked under the door and had to hop to catch the chain dangling from the door. He pulled it down, moving out of the way when the ladder slid out. He turned to tell Greg to grab flashlights and found him waiting with them. Nick took one and the two climbed into the attic. They started through the items, but before long Greg stopped and watched Nick.

"Why are we even up here? Nothing happened up here."

Nick stopped and looked back at him. "The kid that escaped from juvvy, the one that's our prime suspect, had the same last name, right?"

"Yeah. But that doesn't mean anything. His DNA didn't match anyone in the family."

"Wendy was supposed to check his family background after she and Henry finished the tox results on everyone. So we don't know if this kid might have been a foster child or adopted. I'm going on a hunch that he has some kind of connection to this family. After all, there was no sperm matching the unknown blood on any of the girls or mother. Just the dead teenager."

Greg gave into Nick's hunch and kept searching. The answer came when Greg called Nick over to help him pry a lock off a chest. With a pop it flew off and they found a box of torn photographs and broken frames with photographs, which included the suspect with the family members. Nick pulled out a photo album and they could trace the child from the age of six until the photographs abruptly stopped at age twelve.

"Do you think he was adopted?" Greg asked.

"I dunno. I don't know why he'd want to kill his family if they were."

"Maybe it wasn't the Partridge family like it seems. Wouldn't be the first time we saw that happen."

Nick shook his head. He stood, heading for the ladder. "I'm going to go get evidence bags. Keep looking."

Greg started to protest. He didn't want to be left alone in this house. There were too many angry ghosts that gave him the chills, but only his family would understand that. So he watched Nick disappear down the ladder before he turned back to the chest and started unloading it. He found report cards – the boy did well in most of his subjects all through grade and middle school. He pulled out a stack of blank books tied together and pulled the string off. He skimmed the books until he realized he was holding Donald Fritz's journals. They were full of horrific visions Donald had of killing people and all the ways he wanted to do it. Up until the last one when he talked about killing a homeless man, despite Emily telling him not to.

"Emily told you not to kill?" Greg mused.

He'd never heard of a serial killer with a voice that told them not to do harm. Greg sat the journals aside and picked up the last item: a metal box with a three number combination. He fiddled with it until he broke the combination and it opened. What he found inside solved a giant piece of the puzzle in one swoop.

Headlines from nine years ago reading: '_Serial Killer Keeps Las Vegas Up_,' '_Serial Killer Writes Paper And Calls Himself Glass_,' '_Family Of Three Attacked, Parents Killed, Surviving Boy In Critical Condition_.'

"Greg?"

He about jumped out of his skin as he sprung to his feet, scattering the box and it's contents across the floor. Ecklie stood behind him holding evidence bags and Greg's kit.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"S'okay. Where's Nick?"

"They received a tip about Donald Fritz's location. Nick insisted on being there when the kid was arrested."

Greg looked down at the newspaper clippings. He knew he should feel sorry for the boy, but he couldn't find the sympathy anywhere in him. Greg knelt down, picking up the items and putting them in the box. Suddenly the world made no sense.

"He's fifteen!" Greg cried, springing to his feet and turning back to Ecklie. "A fifteen year old kid killed Grissom!"

"He's not dead yet, Greg."

"Stop with the bullshit, Ecklie! He has a DNR. His healthcare advocate will—"

"I'm his advocate. I ordered the life support and resuscitation."

Greg stared at him. "You? Why would he have chosen you?"

"Because he didn't think I'd care." Ecklie sat the bags and kit down at Greg's feet. He held the younger CSI's eyes when he stood. "He was wrong." Ecklie looked at the newspaper clippings in Greg's hands. "I remember that case. I was level one when it happened. I kept getting thinking I'd heard his name somewhere."

"You know, Donald asked for Emily when we found him back then. The strange thing was mother's name was Grace and no one that knew him was named Emily. Maybe if he'd been adopted he might have been okay. Then again, whatever he saw probably wasn't something he could escape."

"I guess not."

Ecklie walked back to the ladder. He started down, telling Greg, "I've posted four units here. One's right down here. After you get the evidence back to the lab, take ten hours off. That's not an option, you need a break."

"Thanks."

Ecklie didn't respond.

**#**

Brass, Nick, and four officers approached a transient camp under a bridge. An officer walked over to two men and after a moment, the two point. The group walked in the direction. They came around a 'box house' to find Donald Fritz writing on a cement column. He had almost covered the lower half of the column with the name 'Emily.' He looked up, saw the officers, and bolted. The group ran after him, one officer radioing the chase in.

#

Greg walked into the hospital room, staring at Grissom. It was the first time he'd seen him and it shook him to see someone he cared about so helpless. He looked down at Sara asleep in the recliner. Greg walked over to her, crouching down and laying his hand on her arm. She woke and the two hugged.

"Hey," Greg said.

She pressed her face against his shoulder, squeezing him tighter.

Greg's head jerked when the heart monitor warning went off. Sara climbed out of the chair, grabbing Greg's wrist and pulling him back against the wall. Nurses and Doctor Ian rushed into the room. Greg didn't say anything when Sara's hand tightened painfully around his wrist.

"This is the fourth time," Sara quietly told him.

#

Donald raced through a yard, leapt a fence into an alley, and hit the ground running. Only Nick and one officer had been able to keep up with him. Donald came around a corner into an alley as two squad cars sped into it at the opposite en. Donald faked left then turned right. Using one hand to leverage himself, he vaulted over a fence into a backyard. The officer and Nick were right behind. They land in a yard with two angry Dobermans caged in a kennel to one side. Donald grabbed the latch of the gate as he passed, throwing it open. Nick slammed it shut as he passed, stopping the dogs from charging out. Donald hit the gate and turned left.

#

Suddenly the heart monitor showed a rhythm. It was erratic but it was back. Ian watched it.

Behind him, Sara smiled. She looked up and found him watching Grissom with a grim expression.

"What?"

Greg looked down at her. "The heartbeat is wrong. This… He can't do this forever, Sara."

"Don't say that!" Sara hissed. "Don't you dare give up on him."

Greg didn't tell her what his intuition said was going to happen.

The heart monitor blared a warning as it lost Grissom's heartbeat again.

#

Donald had lost Nick and the officer. He turned into an alley as a police car turned into it and barreled toward him. Donald scaled a privacy fence and dropped right into Nick and the officer's waiting arms. The two wrestled him to the ground.

Across from them, sitting on top of a derelict doghouse, sat the girl in pigtails and pink dress. She sadly shook her head, disappointed in Donald.

"I told you this would happen, Donald. I told you not to kill. Why didn't you listen to me?" the pigtail girl asked.

Donald went down screaming, "Shut up."

Nick or the officer didn't take time to wonder why he screaming that, because he suddenly started grabbing anything at hand to try and beat them off. They finally got him on his stomach and Nick held Donald's hands on his back while the officer cuffed him. The click of the handcuffs around the teenager's wrists was a bittersweet sound to Nick.

#

Doctor Ian stepped back from the bed. Quietly he told a nurse, "Time of death thirteen hundred and forty-six hours."

"No." Sara said, taking a step toward them. "You can't stop, Ian! You have to keep trying. He doesn't want do die! KEEP TRYING!"

Greg twisted his wrist, grabbing her wrist before she could make it to Ian. She looked back at him, seeing what he wasn't saying. She shook her head.

"No!" She turned back to Ian. "Save him! You have to save him!"

"Sara," Ian said as he approached her. "I can't. I can't bring him back this time. I'm sorry."

Greg yanked her back to him as she swung her hand out to smack Ian. The hand landed hard on Greg's chest, stinging the skin. She fought Greg wrapping his arms around her, screaming for Ian to save Grissom. Greg held her as they sank to the floor together. The screams turned to quiet sobs.

"Grissom can't be gone, Greg. He can't be."

Greg held her head against his shoulder, closing his eyes against his silent tears. "He's still here. Can't you feel him? He's here for you, but you gotta let him go, Sara. Let him know he can move on. Tell him, Sara."

Sara drew a breath, settling her sobs. She closed her eyes. "Good bye."

#

Nick sat in a chair in the hall, staring at his cell phone's screen. From Greg had come the message: GRISSOM PASSED AT 1.46. COME SOON.

Nick didn't look at Brass as he sat down beside him. He looked down the hall instead. He saw Wendy being comforted by Hodges. Mandy and two other women, all crying, were comforting each other. Archie sat in his lab, staring at the floor. Wherever Catherine was, he was sure she was crying.

"Damned thing, this," Brass said.

Nick agreed, but he didn't verbalize it.

"We still have to interview the kid, Nick. Even with this." Brass held up his cell phone.

Nick glanced at it. He couldn't read it, but he was sure Greg had sent the same message to Brass. Nick's eyes drifted to the case file that he'd dropped on the floor. Photographs and report pages were scattered across the hall, forgotten in the moment of shock that had hit Nick when he read the message.

"You want to hand this to someone else?"

"No."

"Then what? I mean, I understand wanting to shut down, because believe me, I want to get in my car right now and drive as fast as I can to anywhere but here, but… This is Grissom's case, even if he wasn't on it. He would want this thing closed. You're lead CSI. We gotta do this, Nick."

Nick drew a breath, put his phone back on his belt, and then knelt on one knee and began collecting his case file and sorting the pages. He stood, watching Bras stand.

"This kid is already in trouble for escaping juvvy," Brass continued, "and they gave us permission to hold him for seventy-two hours. Take your time. Do it by the book. I got your back."

Nick and Brass walked down the hall.

#

Nick sat down opposite Donald. He may be only fifteen, but the dark brown eyes that watched Nick were the cold, dispassionate eyes of a killer with an unquenchable thirst for blood. Grissom had never stood a chance against this child, and that was what fueled Nick's quiet rage."Tell me where you were two nights ago, Donald," Nick asked.

"You know that answer, or we wouldn't be talking, would we?" Donald leaned in, setting his cuffed hands on the table. Nick glanced at the boy's hands. They were smooth, untouched by life. How could hands so young know how to kill someone? "Would we, Mister Stokes?"

Nick didn't react to Donald knowing his name. He wanted him to know his name. If he ever escaped again, Nick hoped this killer would come after him so he would have a reason to put a bullet right between his eyes. But Nick didn't let on he was thinking of murder guised as self-defense.

"Your fingerprints are on the guns and the crowbar used to kill eight people. I—"

"I only killed one with the crowbar." A dreamy look came over Donald's face. "I hope I get another like that one. He didn't cry for help, he didn't beg for his life."

Nick stared at Donald. Some sick part of him that knew it wasn't pertinent to the case asked, "What did he do?"

Donald looked at him. "He fought back! It was a turn on to have him fight back. I thought he was done for the first time I got him down. But he was smart, that old man was. He played possum – isn't that what you Southern hicks call it? Yeah. He faked it. I went upstairs to finish my other jobs and he got up and came after me with the crowbar. But he was old, weak. I got it away and this time I didn't stop until I was sure he was dead. Even came back and shot up the closet to make him and the others were dead."

Nick leaned in. "He lived, Donald. He lived for three more days. That only makes the charges worse for you."

Donald leaned in, stopping his face inches from Nick's when an officer grabbed his shoulder.

"I've never respected someone so much like I did that one. Yeah…" Donald sat back. "I want another one just like that. Not those whiny, sniveling fuckers that beg and pray and barely put up a fight. Someone who has a lot to live for and fights for it."

Nick sat back, because if he didn't, he'd lunge across the table and try breaking Donald's neck. He knew Grissom wanted to live and killed him anyway? There was nothing in this child left to rehabilitate. He was so far gone not even the Devil would want him. Nick looked down at the file his hand was on. Donald wanted to talk about what he'd done, just like every other serial killer.

"Did you kill your family, Donald?"

Donald sat back, staring off across the room. "They weren't my family."

"They were your foster family since you were six."

Donald grinned. It was chilling to see the child grin, to see his raw sadistic pleasure. "My family was murdered. Have you seen the pictures? The man cut out my father's heart and slit him open like a pig. He raped my mother as he strangled her." Donald looked Nick in the eyes. "He told me about it, he tells me all the time what happens."

"How did your parent's murderer tell you to do these things? He's dead."

"In my head." Donald stabbed as his temples with his forefingers and then let out a peal of sadistic laughter. "Long live Harris! Long live Klebold!"

Nick wasn't about to give into this psychopath's worship of what he saw as heroes. Not when he saw Donald gearing up for an insanity plea.

"Why were you writing Emily when we found you? Who is Emily?"

Donald laughed. Nick saw something in it though. The name bothered Donald.

"Donald, who's Emily? How is she connected to this?"

"Stop saying her name. You never say her name."

"I want to know who Emily is."

Donald glared at Nick. If he'd had a weapon handy, Donald would use it on Nick.

"Don't say her name!"

Nick internalized his smile of vengeance. So, there was something this child killer feared? Nick leaned in. "Who. Is. Emily?"

"Stop saying her name!"

"Tell me who she is!"

Donald looked past Nick, into the hall. The pigtailed girl stood at the glass, clutching her cat to her chest with one hand and pressing her other hand against the glass. She looked close to tears.

"Good-bye," the girl mouthed. She turned her back on Donald and walked away.

"Wait," Donald said. "No. Wait. Emily, wait!"

Emily walked around a corner without looking back.

Nick glanced back but saw nothing. He looked back at Donald's face. He was seeing something he thought was real and terrified him. But Nick couldn't let this child slip away on an insanity plea.

"Donald, who is—"

"When you first see Emily, you will fear her. When Emily comes once more, you will breath no more."

Nick knew that phrase. He opened his file and pulled out several photographs with that phrase… Including one scratched into Grissom's back like the other victims. Nick picked up a photo of the phrase written in blood on the bathroom mirror. He turned it, showing Donald."Who is Emily?" Nick asked.

"STOP SAYING HER NAME!" Donald lunged at Nick, his arms outstretched to grab Nick by the throat.

Nick leapt out of his chair, keeping clear of the murder's hands. Nick quickly moved back next to Brass, hiding that the child lunging at him had shaken him.

"We're done," Nick told the officers when they finally got Donald in the chair.

The two wrestled him to his feet and led him out. Nick watched Donald led past. His cold, killer behavior was back. He lunged at people as he passed, and laughed when they jumped away in surprise or fear. He starts singing loudly, "I wanna be an airborne ranger."

"He's going to get away with this, isn't he?" Nick asked Brass.

Brass sighed. "I don't know, Nick. I hope not."

#

Catherine sat on the back step of her house, head against a column, staring at the lawn. She knew she should go to bed, tomorrow's shift was only five hours away, but she couldn't sleep. She had reached a point where she wanted to cry, but there just weren't any tears left.

"Here, Mom," Lindsay said as she sat down next to Catherine.

She looked down at the mug of tea Lindsay held out to her.

"Thank you, but no, honey."

"Mom, you have to sleep. You have to work tonight."

"I know, sweety. I just can't." Catherine looked back at the lawn.

Lindsay sat the mug down and then scooted close, wrapping her arms around Catherine. Catherine lifted her arm around her daughter, holding her close and tight.

"I'm going to miss him, Mom. Who's going to tutor me in physics now?"

Catherine didn't answer. She didn't know answers to anything right now.

"I'll take a nap with you if you go lay down at least," Lindsay offered.

Catherine smiled at her. She brushed back Lindsay's bangs, nodding.

"Okay."

The two got up and went inside.

#

Nick walked out of the bathroom to his bedroom, toweling his hair dry. He tossed the towel in the hamper as he passed it and then crawled into bed. It took him a few minutes to get comfortable. He closed his eyes, an attempt to force sleep to come. But when he did that, he could only see Grissom lying in the closet under the bodies, slowly dying before his eyes. Nick turned, tried to get comfortable and attempted again. The image returned.

Nick looked at the door when the doorbell rang. He climbed out of bed, pulled on a pair of shorts, and headed for the front door. Nick opened it, surprised to see Sara, and even more surprised to see her crying.

"I can't sleep," she said with a forced smile. "I was… I keep…"

"Me too."

"Can I come in?"

Nick stepped back, letting her in. He shut the door behind her and then hurried into the kitchen to grab a box of tissues. He returned, handing her the box.

"Thanks."

Nick nodded.

"Is the kid going to get off on insanity?"

"I don't know. It's too soon to tell."

She nodded. Nick suddenly hugged her. He needed to hug someone. He needed someone to support. Comforting someone else was how he always got through times like these. And Sara let him. She dropped the box and clung to him.

"We were supposed to get married, Nick," she whispered. "He asked me to marry him. What am I supposed to do now?"

"We'll figure it out, girl. Somehow."

#

Greg sat on a stool in the lab, spinning and spinning. He'd tried sleep. That didn't work. He'd tried eating. Everything tasted like shit. He'd tried a movie, but after watching a dozen suffering fake deaths, he walked out. He went to the only place he knew that felt right – his lab.

Someone grabbed his shoulders, stopping him. Ecklie stared at him with a hard-to-read expression.

"What are you doing here, Sanders?"

Greg looked down at his hands. Then he shrugged.

"Spinning on a lab stool probably won't help. If anything, it's going to make you sick."

Greg didn't answer.

"You're not clocked in, are you?"

Greg shook his head.

"Do, uhm, do you want to see if Robbins wants assistance? He's arriving here in an hour."

"Robbins is?"

"Grissom."

Greg looked up at Ecklie. "He is?"

Ecklie nodded.

Greg almost started crying but was able to pull back from that. He slowly nodded.

"Okay. I'll call him. But only if you try to sleep for an hour. Deal?"

"Swear you'll wake me up when he's here? Don't lie to me about this, Conrad. Please."

"I wouldn't lie about this, Greg. Go. Get some sleep. I'll wake you when it's time."

Greg left as ordered. Ecklie watched him leave, and then slowly looked down as Hodges sidled up to him. He was watching Greg too.

"That was a smart move, sir. Convincing him you'd let him help if he slept."

"And why are _you_ here again?"

Hodges didn't answer.

"Go home, Hodges. Don't come back until you're scheduled."

Hodges started to protest.

"Go! Now!"

In a rush Hodges left the lab, heading to the elevator. Ecklie sighed, sitting down on the stool. He looked around the lab, watched the people work, and longed for one last glimpse of Grissom walking past.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

David wheeled in a gurney with a body bag, stopping it next to an autopsy table. On the opposite side stood Greg and Robbins, both wearing scrubs overlaid with rubber gowns, long rubber gloves and a plastic facemask ready to lower. David opened the bag, revealing Grissom still in bandages. Carefully the three men moved him from the bag to the autopsy table. David pushed the gurney away and then went into the back to change for autopsy. Robbins looked at Greg.

"Are you sure you want to help?"

Greg nodded.

Robbins picked up a pair of surgical scissors from a tray and handed them to Greg.

"You cut off the bandages. The red trashcan here is for biological waste. The metal one is for biological waste that need to go to trace. Anything touching his skin is trace. Understand?"

Greg nodded. He began cutting bandages away. Robbins picked up a bone saw and went to work on the casts. David returned and the three quickly finished.

"Do you need to photograph the injuries again?" Robbins asked him.

"Ecklie said it… No."

"Okay. Then we're going to bathe him."

"Can I do that?"

"Yes." Robbins picked up a sponge from a table and handed it over.

Greg took it, staring at Grissom's face. Without looking he reached up and pulled the hose down from above, depressing the lever on the side. A gentle stream of warm water flowed from the nozzle.

Robbins didn't comment on the gentle care Greg took as he began washing blood out of Grissom's hair.

"Well, Grissom, the case is closed," Greg told Grissom. "We're hoping the kid doesn't get away with an insanity plea, but… We'll see. You wouldn't believe how Ecklie's been behaving. You'd probably find some way to give him a hard time about it if you could…"

Greg didn't notice Robbins lay a hand on David's shoulder and start him toward the door. David looked back, watching Greg. He looked up at Robbins as the two went out.

"It's not procedure to leave a CSI doing that," David said.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"We just left… Oh. I see. Should we go get a cup of coffee?"

"Or two."

The morticians continued walking in silence, leaving Greg behind to say good-bye in his own way.

.…

Grissom's office was full of books on a variety of subjects relating to forensics. His collection of shrunken heads sat on top of the filing cabinets, where he'd last moved them after dusting the glass case protecting them. On a shelf at the back was a row of radiated pig fetuses, floating in embalming fluid. Around the back of the shelves, hidden among more books aimed toward forensics, was a small section that covered a variety of strange, New Age, or metaphysical topics. It would take days to pack up this office.  
In a chair in front of the desk sat seven-year-old Emily Patterson. She was small for her age, and looked five. She had bright blond hair pulled back in pigtails that curled and bounced with every small movement. She wore a pink dress with 'Princess' spelled out in flashing sequins. On her lap sat a stuffed terry clothe cat, and hanging from the arm of the chair was a Dora The Explorer backpack. And she stared intensely at the very much alive Doctor Gilbert Grissom.  
Grissom leaned on his desk, stuck somewhere between amusement and shock. With vivid detail she had just told him how he was going to die tonight, exactly where evidence would be found, who did it, how they did it, and why. No matter how adorable she was, how brilliant she came across, he wasn't about to trust in her premonition or believe her out of hand. The scientist in him needed more proof than a twenty-minute story that any child with a vivid imagination could make up, especially with the violence they were barraged with from media today. So he decided to approach it as he did any crime scene and any suspect…  
"And you say you're an Indigo child?"  
"Yes."  
"How do you know that?"  
"I just do."  
"You know there is no empirical evidence to prove the existence Indigo children exist."  
"There was a time when to believe in God was heresy. People were killed for believing in one god. Yet people still did and without proof God existed. Even today, people believe in this God that no one has empirical evidence exists. Is believing in Indigo children so far from this blind faith?"  
While her comparison was excellent, it didn't convince him. There were still too many questions. "And you expect me to believe that your parents let you come here alone in the middle of the night?"  
Emily shook her head, making her curls bounce merrily. "If you know about my kind, you know we have to often disobey authority because we have to. My mom doesn't know I'm here. We have had bad experiences with other police and if she knew I came to talk to you, it would upset her. I don't have a father. He left when I was three because what I told him scared him. My mom tries to understand what I tell her but often times what I tell her frightens her."  
"Frankly, Emily, I'm also unnerved by what you've told me. Like the vast majority, I don't want to know how or when I'm going to die."  
"This death is avoidable Doctor Grissom and I need you to live so you can help me save people. If there ever comes a time when your death is inevitable, I'll be sure to keep it to myself."  
"Why me?"  
Emily smiled. It was hard to believe a child with such a bright, contagious smile held such dark secrets. "Because you want to believe, and I need you to. We both need each other for similar but very different reasons."  
Grissom sat back, staring at her. She didn't show any signs of impatience like most children her age. She was truly unique, so perhaps her claim that she was an Indigo child was correct. She was right about one thing; deep down, he wanted to believe in her. Maybe it was a result of the missing faith his mother could never convince him to blindly accept.  
"If I choose to take the extra precaution as you've suggested, I won't be killed?"  
Emily nodded, bouncing her pigtails.  
"And no one told you this was going to happen? This isn't a threat?"  
She shook her head, bouncing her pigtails again. If the gravity of her story hadn't been so profound, he would have been amused by how more adorable it made her look.  
Grissom decided he could at least take precaution tonight; there was no harm in that.  
Emily suddenly stood up and reached out, taking a pen and paper from his desk. "I'll write the address down for you, since you were about to ask." Emily wrote it and handed him the paper. "Be sure you take this case. Then ask for at least three more police officers to meet you there. Tell them the officer on scene is impersonating an officer and has likely killed the real one, and the killer, Donald Fritz, is in the house still. He'll still escape, even with the police, but you know where to find him next. Under the overpass, writing my name."  
"Why your name?"  
"I've tried to talk to him more than once, but he refuses to listen to me. He thinks I'm trying to hurt him. I'm not."  
"Talk to him?"  
"Donald is an Indigo child just like me. That's why he can't handle what he saw. He never had anyone who believed in him like my mother believes in me. We have all decided he's beyond our help."  
"We who?"  
"The other Indigo children."  
Grissom wanted to inquire more about these other children, but he decided to focus on the case she was talking about. He looked into her blue eyes. "If what you're saying is true, Emily, why aren't you afraid of what you know? Why aren't you sad, Emily?"  
"Doctor Grissom, I've seen death all my life. I don't want the people at that house to die, but by the time I got here, they were already dead. It is sad, I cried when I learned about it, but these people weren't important. The ones I need you to save are, but you won't do that until you watch this case play out just like I told you it would. Except without you dying, I hope."  
The two stared at one another without speaking. Catherine came in, reading the calls in her hand.  
"We've only been here twenty minutes and—" Catherine stopped when she looked up and saw Emily. Emily looked back at her and she smiled. "Hi there."  
Emily flashed her a smile. She picked up her backpack and shrugged into it.  
She looked back at Grissom, shaking her finger at him in a scolding manner. "Be safe, Doctor Gilbert Grissom. I need you."  
Grissom smiled. "I'll take precautions, Emily."  
She smiled and turned, walking up to Catherine.  
"Don't drink coffee on the way to the crime scene. You'll just spill it tonight." Emily walked out.  
Catherine watched her leave, and then turned to Grissom. He was staring out his door with a deep, thoughtful look on his face.  
"Who was that?" Catherine asked.  
Grissom picked up the piece of paper with the address. "Catherine, are any of those calls at 3123 Roper?"  
Catherine looked at the call sheets and then up at him. "Yeah. Neighbors reported gunshots. Officer reported to scene and requested CSI for multiple bodies. How did you know that?"  
Grissom stood, grabbed his jacket, and held his hand out for it. "You take the accident – most likely the driver fell asleep at the wheel, but verify it. Send Nick out to Flamingo drive with a lab tech so they can get the door off. Give Greg the hotel." Grissom stopped in the door, and turned. "Oh, and one more thing."  
Catherine was staring at him. "Yeah?"  
"If you start calling me at any time tonight but I don't answer after several tries, come immediately. If you wait too long… Just come. And bring backup. Lots of it."  
"I really would like to know what's going on."  
"I can't explain it yet." Grissom left, placing a call. "Dispatch? Gil Grissom. I want four units sent to 3123 Roper and secure the location. Be sure officers ask the officer on scene to identify himself with his badge and ID; we may have a man impersonating an officer on scene. There will also be a teenager, Donald Fritz; he escaped from Clark Count Juvenile Detention Center. He is armed and extremely dangerous. Thank you. Good bye."  
Grissom pushed open the door to the stairwell, trotting down the stairs as he snapped his phone shut. He wasn't sure what was fueling him more – the chance that this may be the fastest case he'd ever closed, or, if everything played out the way Emily said, he may have found a bona fide Indigo child.


End file.
